I felt punchy. Numb. I palmed off the job of telling Mam about Michael to my sister. Catherine would handle the task better, but it stung. I consoled myself that I wasn’t up to the job — it would have ended me and I needed to keep it together. Was struggling though, even drove home with Debs’s Katy Perry CD playing and didn’t bother to switch it off. The dog greeted me like a Ritalin-deprived six-year-old, jumping and clawing, diving all over the furniture to land a paw on me. He was a dog that I’d rescued, took the name ‘Usual’ from the regulars in a pub I ran for a while. Another failure of mine; something else to forget.
I shut Usual in the living room and hit the hay. I’d been up all night without any sleep. As my head hit the pillow the dog clawed at the door. I realised I didn’t actually want to be alone and got up to let him in. As I climbed back into bed Usual chanced his luck and jumped up. I allowed him to curl silently at my feet.
I felt tired. Damn-near exhausted. But sleep didn’t come. I pulled the pillow over my head and tried to block out the light streaming in through the curtains.
Wasn’t happening.
I knew whatever I did next, none of it would sit well with Debs. After our divorce we’d went our separate ways but we’d patched things up now; there was something that pulled us back together. A bond? Shared history? We’d been through so much misery that maybe we just knew where to stack the ballast to keep each other afloat. My jaw tensed at the prospect of her reaction to me raking into my brother’s death.
A child in the flat upstairs started laughing. Sounded like it was trapped in the floorboards. It was all I could take.
Grabbed my mobi, dialled: ‘Y’right?’
‘Gus, lad, how’s it hanging?’
I didn’t need to soft-soap Mac the Knife. ‘My brother’s dead.’
He rasped, ‘Michael… dead?’
‘Killed. Plugged.’
‘What the fuck?’ His voice dropped. ‘Where are you?’
‘Home. I need some gear. Can you get me some speed or something?’
A pause.
‘Erm… is that a good idea?’
I sat up in bed, took a bit of a flier: ‘Don’t gimme good or bad idea here, mate, can you get me fixed up?’
Mac took the blast well. ‘Aye, sure. I’ll be round.’
‘Fine.’
I hung up.
There was a stack of folk I needed to see and Davie Prentice topped the list. If there was some trouble at my brother’s business, I needed to know. Shit, I needed to start somewhere. The factory seemed like the best place to turn up a motive. Fat Davie needed to face some harsh questioning.
I got out of bed and put on the shower. Got it burning hot; pushing up the steam, I crouched down and let the hot water burn into me for the best part of an hour.
When I came out, the dog was sat at the bathroom door, lying on the rug with his chops between his front paws. He looked up when I appeared.
‘You’re a smart animal,’ I said. He sensed the change in me; I felt it myself.
I hunted for some music, but nothing seemed right. The nearest I approached was Johnny Cash, toyed with it, put it in the player and cranked up the track I wanted to hear: ‘Hurt’, his Nine Inch Nails cover, but I couldn’t bring myself to press ‘play’.
Got dressed in a new pair of Gap jeans and a top from River Island that Debs had bought for me. They didn’t feel quite comfortable enough, like I was trying too hard for trendy. Still, she hadn’t quite succeeded in weaning me off my Docs yet.
I had the kettle brewing for coffee when Usual let rip with a burst of loud barking. Someone was on the stairs. The door went.
It was Mac.
He strolled in, eyes down, never raised his gaze once, said, ‘That’s some bad shit about Michael… I’m sorry for your loss.’
I thanked him, but I really didn’t want to hear it again. I didn’t want to hear it the first time. I shouldn’t have been hearing it at all. That was the truth of the matter and nothing was going to change it.
I steered him off course: ‘Did you get my gear?’
He fished in his jacket pocket, exposed a ‘Vote for Pedro’ T-shirt. ‘Some fast powder.’
I snatched the wraps off him, got fired in.
‘Go canny with that stuff.’
I rubbed my nose, backed him off with my eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Just, y’know…’
‘Just what?… Think it’ll turn me back to the drink? Get a taste for one drug, it’ll whet my appetite for another?’
‘Gus, cool the beans, eh… I’m just saying, watch yourself.’
I gave him a nod — his concern was genuine.
‘Mac, I need a clear head. I also need to get moving, that’s all this is about.’
I bagged up the wraps of speed and started to comb my damp hair. Needed a shave but wanted to maintain the roughneck vibe for Davie’s visit. I put down the comb, turned to face him. ‘Someone plugged Michael for a reason.’
Mac looked deep in concentration, probably on a number of fronts. He had tried to get me on the straight and narrow many times, preaching to me about his own rehabilitation after a stint in Barlinnie’s Nutcracker Suite. He and Debs had been in cahoots to get me to see a headshrinker but that plan was turfed when I showed them I could handle the sauce on my own. I didn’t want to let them turn my brother’s death into another cause for concern but I saw Mac was wondering, were we wading into choppy waters?
‘Gus, y’know, the filth aren’t going to be best pleased with you poking about in this… after the last time.’
I volleyed that one back at him: ‘Well, don’t think for a second I’m going to leave the investigation of my own brother’s murder to plod. Don’t even contemplate that.’
Mac took the hint. He knew he was onto a loser, he’d tried that lark before. ‘Okay, count me in.’
‘What do you mean?’
He squared his shoulders. ‘I’m on the team, on the case.’
‘Not minding… I don’t need minding on this, Mac.’
‘No way. I want to help.’
‘I’m serious, man, I don’t need looking after.’
‘I know that, Gus.’ He zipped up his black leather jacket. He looked like a door lump; I had to admit it was the kind of help I could do with.
‘Okay, then. Let’s go pay fat Davie a visit.’
‘Who?’
‘My brother’s former business partner… See what he has to say for himself. Though I warn you, I never liked the cunt.’
‘Can we expect trouble?’
‘Expect it?… We’re taking it to him.’
Mac the Knife smiled, lifted his jacket and exposed his heavy gut, a claw hammer tucked in his waistband. ‘Good job I got tooled up, then.’
As soon as the front door opened the dog bolted off down the stairs. Mac scowled. ‘Smells of pish in here.’
‘Is there a stair in Edinburgh that doesn’t?’
‘You want to catch them at it… It’ll be the same bastard, y’know.’
I put on my ‘shut the fuck up’ look.
‘Serious,’ said Mac.
‘How many jakeys are there in this city, not to mention assorted pish-heads?’
He ferreted in his jeans, produced a Jimmy Denner. ‘Ten-spot says I’m right.’
I took his money — was way too easy.
Outside the snow was falling heavily again. Usual raised his nose to it, sneezed a bit, then wagged his tail as he shovelled his snout along the pavement. The road had been turned to slush; a bus on the way to Ocean Terminal chucked up a black spray as it went. Never ceased to amaze me how quickly the whiteness turned to blackness.
We got in the Punto. ‘So, this Davie character, what’s the SP?’ said Mac.
‘Wide as a gate, real man on the make. You’ll suss the type.’
I turned over the engine. Katy Perry was still going on about kissing a girl and liking it. Mac jumped for the dial: ‘Jesus on a fucking rubber cross, Dury! What are you listening to?’ He was about to throw the disc on the back seat next to the dog but I snatched it.
‘It’s hers.’
‘Debs… she’s not sleeping head to toe now, is she? Sounds like lesbo music to me.’
I gave him a wry grin, closest I’d got to a smile in the last twenty-four hours; I was grateful for it. I put on the radio — it seemed to suit him.
‘So you were saying, Davie… what’s his full handle?’
‘Davie Prentice. Used to be a big wheel in the computer business, ran some number for an American outfit when we were their best buddies, height of the boom.’
‘Silicon Glen…’
‘Don’t know her — she one of yer porno stars?’
A laugh. Snort on the end of it. I managed a laugh myself too, maybe trying a little too hard. The car’s wheels spun on the slush.
‘Keep yer eyes on the road, Gus, gritters haven’t been out.’
The speed was making me jumpy, my eyes began to itch. ‘Okay. Okay.’
‘So, Davie was a what, manager or something?’
‘Plant manager, like I say, a big wheel. The Yank firm pulled out, though, or as good as. Downsized in a major way. They still needed to keep a presence here, though, keep the supply chains open for the European plants and fat Davie went it alone.’
‘Michael tell you this?’
I nodded. ‘Davie was manufacturing bits and pieces — soldering circuit boards and popping in memory SIMMS for the PCs. Stuff a trained monkey could do, but it needed doing and he had the contracts, big poppy behind him. That’s how Michael got hooked up: fat Davie needed a haulier and Michael’s firm fitted the bill.’
‘Sounds like a cushy set-up.’
I dropped a gear as we came off Leith Walk and onto Pilrig Street, gunned the engine to put the tram works behind us, said, ‘Well, it was…’
‘Joint in trouble now?’
‘That I don’t know. His wife was a bit vague.’
Mac pointed out the window. ‘Seen the nick of this place?’ Boarded-up shopfronts and ‘closed’ signs. ‘Everyone’s feeling it, mate.’
I started sweating and yabbering as the amphetamine worked its magic. ‘Well, I know this much, if Davie Prentice is feeling it, we’re all fucked. He’s the type makes money from muck. Then there’s my brother’s lodger-’
Mac cut me off: ‘A fucking lodger in the Grange?’
I turned, rapid nods. ‘Aye, that’s what I thought. Jayne said it was temporary, that Michael was helping this Vilem guy out.’
‘You think yer brother’s missus is busy with the lodger?’
I shut him down: ‘No way. Never. That’s not Jayne’s style. She was devoted to Michael.’
‘Okay… if you say so.’
A teeny skank in skinny jeans that hung below his arse stepped in front of the car. I hit the anchors; Mac hit the horn, yelled, ‘Ye twat!’ The kid couldn’t hear a word — headphones that wouldn’t look out of place on a road-drill worker — and kept walking, oblivious. As the car slid to a halt on the slippy road Mac shook his head. ‘No sense of danger.’
I agreed: ‘Walking in front of a car, in this weather — lunacy.’
‘I’m not talking about that.’ He whipped out the claw hammer, put it on the dash. ‘I could’ve brained the cunt. That thing nearly cut me in two.’
I was glad to have Mac beside me. There had been times in the past when I thought the friendship was at an end.
‘How you faring this weather, Mac?’
He scratched the corner of his mouth, inflated his chest, said, ‘Och, you know me.’
I knew better than to press him. ‘What about Hod? He putting any work your way?’
‘Bit… you know how it is.’
I didn’t like the sound of that. Hod, our mutual friend, had taken over the Holy Wall pub, once a going concern but truly junked after my efforts. ‘How’s the Wall looking?’
‘You not been in yet?’
‘Uh-uh.’ I couldn’t face it.
‘It’s a bit plush, but fur coat and nae knickers if you ask me.’
True Scots wisdom, defies logic.
‘Sounds… different.’
‘Well, he’s taken down your pictures of the dogs playing snooker, if that’s what you mean.’
‘The heathen.’
‘You’ll have to pay a visit.’
‘Yeah well, when I’m a bit more flush.’
‘You still looking for work?’
I gave him a look that said Isn’t everyone? ‘There’s nothing out there. My racket’s finished: they write newspapers with work experience and student interns these days.’
Mac followed a loose train of thought: ‘Still, you have this to be going on with.’
This wasn’t any kind of work either, deffo not anything I wanted to pursue, even if I had Debs’s approval for it — which I certainly didn’t.
As we reached the factory gates, the conversation shifted immediately — we weren’t alone.
‘What’s the filth doing here?’ said Mac.
I pulled up the car, yanked the handbrake on. ‘Mugging my hole.’